


Nurse Bard

by grelleswife



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Bard is best boi, F/M, Grelle has a cold, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Reaper!AU, Sick Character, Trans Female Character, female pronouns for Grelle, they are married in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 21:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19326412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grelleswife/pseuds/grelleswife
Summary: When Grelle comes down with a cold, it's up to Bard to be her nurse.





	Nurse Bard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShyWhovian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyWhovian/gifts).



> Written for an anonymous Tumblr request for Bard caring for an ill Grelle. This takes place in the same AU as "Leading Lady," in which Bard has become a reaper. At this point in time, Bard and Grelle have gotten married!

“ACHOOO!”

Grelle sniffled after her fourth attack of sneezing that morning. She was supposed to be getting dressed so that she and Bard could grab a quick bite of breakfast before work (an easier and less combustible option than making their own), but the red reaper was feeling decidedly under the weather. She ached all over, and a persistent soreness nagged at her throat.

“Ye all right, doll?” Bard asked in concern as he poked his head around the bedroom door, putting on his coat.

“I think my sinuses are just a little…a-a-a-ACHOO!” Grelle’s vain attempts at allaying Bard’s worries were stymied by another bout of the dreaded sneezes.

“Blimey,” he said, feeling her forehead. “Yer running a temperature, ye are. Looks like a cold to me, Miss Grelle.” Taking her by the shoulders, he gently but firmly escorted Grelle to bed. “Put yer nightgown back on, love. Ye should probably stay home fer t’day.” Before leaving the room, he reassured her, “I’ll give Mr. Spears a call to let ‘im know I won’t be comin’ in.”

“Darling, there’s really no need…” Grelle protested feebly.

“’Course there is. I’ve got to stay an’ take care of my gal!” Giving her a warm smile and a cheery thumbs-up, he added, “Jus’ call me Nurse Bard!”

Grelle got back into her pajamas and eased onto their bed. Despite her malaise, she had to admit that the prospect of being tended to by her husband for a day wasn’t half bad. Bard soon returned with extra blankets and quilts, tucking Grelle in and arranging plenty of fluffy pillows behind her head. He bustled about like a fretful mother hen, fetching handkerchiefs, hot water bottles, books, and Grelle’s favorite comfort item—a stuffed shark. In the aftermath of its founder’s Faustian demise, the Funtom Company run by Bard’s erstwhile young master had expanded its selection of toys to encompass aquatic creatures. Upon witnessing Grelle’s fascination with the sharks during a date at a London aquarium (“Their teeth are just like mine, darling!”), Bard had impulsively bought her Funtom’s “Bitter Shark.” Not an entirely apt name; he’d proposed to her later that day, so the cuddly shark was inextricably linked to cherished memories. Grelle hugged the soft toy and smiled up at Bard. “I’m so lucky,” she whispered quietly. After decades of loneliness, she had miraculously found that rarest of creatures: A good man. And a kind one, too, who loved her for who she truly was.

Flustered, Bard adjusted his glasses, fidgeted with the bottom of his shirt, and hastily cleared his throat. “I’ll fix ye a nice warm bowl o’ chicken soup,” he said awkwardly, squeezing her hand before making his way to the kitchen. Grelle watched his departure with fond eyes.

Of course, Bard being Bard, soup preparations didn’t exactly go according to plan, and it wasn’t long before the now-familiar scent of burning comestibles wafted through the apartment. The shamefaced (and lightly singed) chef popped in to inform Grelle that he was “steppin’ out” but would be back shortly. Grelle affectionately shook her head as he left. Bard really was a dear. He always tried his best for her, even when his efforts went up in flames. She soon found herself dozing off, and, the next thing she knew, Bard had returned with a large container of what smelled like delicious chicken soup. Taking a look at the packaging, she realized that he’d bought it from their favorite restaurant in the reaper realm. “Bard! You shouldn’t have!” she squealed. In reality, of course, Grelle was thrilled. Despite his humble origins, Bard treated her like a queen. “Only the best for my lady!” he replied gallantly, bowing with a flourish.

Once Grelle had eaten her fill, Bard pulled up a chair and sat by her side, telling jokes and old stories from his military days. Despite continued aches and pains, he made her laugh until she almost felt well again.

Maybe people had a point when they claimed that love was the best medicine.


End file.
